Drifter's Ghost
by EphemeralFlames
Summary: In which the main original character is dead before the story even starts, stays dead for the duration thereafter, and the word "dead" doesn't necessarily mean "gone." Hints of RL/OC. Slow burn, eventual RL/OC. Rating subject to change. Plot sorta based off of Shallow Graves by Kali Wallace.
1. In which things are unburied

**Hi there. This is my first time writing any sort of story in over 4 years, so I'm pretty rusty. As such, I apologize for any mistakes. This fiction will have irregular updates, as my schedule is subject to change each week.**

 **This work is a cross between the concept of the novel _Shallow Graves_ by Kali Wallace, and Harry Potter. It will eventually time jump from the end of the Marauders era at Hogwarts to the start of Harry's time at Hogwarts, and continue from there. **

**Thanks for taking the time to read my writing! I would really appreciate some opinions on this first chapter. :)**

 **I do not own anything contained in this story except my original characters. I'm just playing with other people's ideas.**

* * *

 _"An idea, like a ghost, must be spoken to a little before it will explain itself." - Charles Dickens_

* * *

 ** _* First Person_**

Often times, people will face the topic of death with a light, humored heart. Jokes in the face of death, the whole shebang. It's a perfectly reasonable reaction to the whole, " _I might die at any second and I don't know what's beyond life,_ " thing. Me? Oh man, if I wasn't stuck in this stupid purgatory thing, I'd be going to Hell immediately from all my jokes. Life is shit and all things show it, I thought so then, but now I know it!

Oh, yeah, speaking of my situation, it seems as if I am stuck in a void of black, staring into nothingness. It's been what seems like an eternity since I died. I know that I am dead, but I don't know how I died. That pissed me off.

I was young, I had dreams, I wanted to go places in life! I felt robbed and betrayed. I lost so much time, and seriously, who kills a 16 year old in her own back yard? I mean, I don't really remember how I was even killed, just that I was murdered.

There was an odd, throbbing pain in my neck and my right side. I couldn't see my injuries, because everything was a black void. But I think I know why I'm stuck in purgatory. I'm waiting for my time for revenge. I want answers, and I want them soon.

After what felt like a lifetime of just waiting and staring out in the void of black, there was a subtle _shift_ in the atmosphere of this place. I suddenly knew, the Decision of my soul was made. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, there was _light_.

* * *

 _September 14th, 1974_

* * *

 *** _Third Person_**

Bright light streamed down through the ancient windows of the Hogwarts library, casting a warm Autumn glow across the whole library. It was the start of term, and it was a lazy warm Saturday. Some of the more studious population sat in the library, drinking in information from the various old tomes that resided there. But there was an unease that lay beneath the warm cloak of Fall. Whispers of werewolf sightings in London, and a murder tied to the sightings.

Her body was found in her back yard, her neck broken with an unmistakable bite on her abdomen, her hand grasping her wand still. She was a student of Hogwarts, a Hufflepuff fourth year named Beatrix Lebedev. She wasn't terribly popular, but both the library and the greenhouses suffered for her loss.

In the warm, slightly crisp Autumn air, a group of Gryffindors made their way down towards Hagrid's hut, laughing and joking the entire way. The four were a tight-knit group, self-proclaimed Marauders, almost never seen apart when they aren't in separate classes. It was their fourth year, they were ready to tackle school life, and cook up some new pranks. But one of them wasn't as animated as the other four; it was Remus Lupin.

The whispers of werewolves around the school were making him nervous, and the news of the murder of Beatrix had turned his stomach to lead and his heart to ice. Beatrix was one of the nicest girls he'd ever met, and she had even brought him some of her father's homemade chocolate last year. He had admired her from a distance, and it was his plan to ask her to attend their Halloween bash this year, but he never got his chance. She passed away on August 20th. She was suspected to be killed by a werewolf.

Remus paused in his walking, a hard lump forming in his throat as he looked around at the beautiful Autumn scenery. Beatrix loved the outdoors more than she loved books. On any given day, he could find her curled up in the library or out underneath a tree if the weather was nice enough.

He always was too afraid to ask her about what she was reading, but each book he saw her read, he would look it up and read it if it interested him. More often than not, he loved the books. A mist of tears formed over his eyes, and he swept his hands over his eyes before his friends could see.

James turned around, a few meters ahead of Remus, and gave him an annoyed look. "Come on, Remus. We have to get down to Hagrid's as soon as we can, I left my cloak there yesterday!" He said, beckoning his werewolf friend along impatiently. Remus nodded silently, and started walking briskly to catch up with his friends.

It was no use dwelling over Beatrix. She was gone, and he lost his chance.

* * *

 _? Spring, 1975_

* * *

 _ ***First Person**_

When I awoke, I felt myself being lifted. My eyes snapped open, my mouth opening to gasp air into oxygen-starved lungs. I clung to whatever, _whoever_ , was lifting me, and immediately I was flooded with an oily, disgusting, _dark_ feeling. It felt like oily tentacles grasping at my body, filling me with the horror of the countless numbers I somehow knew that he had killed before.

In that moment, all I was experiencing and doing was through pure instinct. I pulled on the darkness. Not in the conventional way you would pull something, like with your hands, but in a magical sort of way. Immediately, we dropped as one, onto the wet, cold ground beside my shallow grave. I pulled, _pulled, **pulled,**_

 _ **SNAP!**_

 _ **. . .**_

 _Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump._

 _. . ._

My heart beat.

. . .

His did not.

* * *

 **There you go, I guess. The first chapter. A little short, but I think I like it a little short for now. What do you think? If you would like to correct my grammar, spelling, etc, and please feel free to, please PM me instead of leaving a review on it. :)**


	2. In which things are suspected

**Hi there! I'd like to take the time to thank Eisit and whyisthissoawesome for following my story, and also to thank Dreamy-Girl2016 for favoriting! :)**

 **Beatrix is an old, old character of mine that I have used for many different purposes, and as such, her personality may feel a little bit...spread out and varied. I try to keep her as far away from being a Mary Sue at all times. She's also a very...grating person.**

 **This fic is also a way for me to explore how to elaborate and develop characters, and so, some of the characters may be Out-Of-Character as the story progresses and changes. This work will not follow the strict timeline that the books/movies have laid out, but it will stay close.**

 **And now, on to the story! I do not own Harry Potter, Shallow Graves, or any content taken from either book.**

* * *

 _ **(Remus)**_

Hogwarts was buzzing with a tense, nervous atmosphere. Remus could feel the tension creeping down his spine, setting his nerves on end. It was the beginning of May, when all the snow shed from the wold and life began anew. But something felt off today, and Remus didn't have to wait long to find out what.

"Remus!" Came the voice of his friend Sirius from the direction of the Gryffindor table. There was a group of students huddled towards the end of the Gryffindor table, and Remus walked over to investigate what was going on.

As he approached the group, Remus heard worried murmurs and stressed whispers, and one of the younger students was shuffling for a spot to see. On the table was a copy of _The Daily Prophet,_ and the headline for today read,

" _ **MASS AVIAN DEATH IN NORTHERN ENGLAND! FORCE OF MAGIC OR FORCE OF NATURE?**_ "

Remus' brows furrowed in confusion, and he looked at Sirius from across the table, a silent question hanging in the air.

"A bunch of birds dropped dead and no one seems to be able to figure out what from. The mailing system is right screwed up, and we can't send any owls out until Dumbledore figures out what happened." Sirius supplied helpfully as Remus took a seat beside James, who was pouring over the paper.

"Hey, Remus, what town did you say that Lebedev girl lived in?" James asked quite suddenly, forehead cresing in confusion. Remus let out a huff of annoyance, and replied,

"Her name was Beatrix, and she lived in Bradford, England. Why?"

"Well, it says here that the center of the event is right in Bradford. That seems kinda strange, doesn't it?" James slid the paper over to Remus, and he looked to where James indicated.

" _...avians of all types seem to have dropped dead to the ground early yesterday morning... Seems that the center of the event was Bradford, and no magical folk have come forth to claim responsibility for the event... The Bradford owl post suffered minimal losses but are also inquiring into the event... At this time, no dark magic is suspected to be at play..."_

Remus' frown deepened. He wasn't sure what this meant, but his gut was telling him that something wasn't right in the world.

* * *

 _ **(Beatrix)**_

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.

Walk. Walk. Walk.

Step. Step. Step.

Walking through Bradford in Spring was one of my favorite things to do. But right now, it was my least favorite. I was covered in a sheen of dirt, the dark earth staining my white hair brown. I had fled the site I had woken up at immediately, thankful that I seemed to be in my own city. I was currently on my way home, heart racing in my chest, and side throbbing.

I didn't dare look at my side. I didn't know what happened, why I was buried, why...why anything. I honestly didn't want to know either.

I came upon my family's apartment, and I dug in the dirt beside the lilac tree in the front yard, unearthing the spare key. I let myself in discreetly, seeing as both of my parents were probably at work, and made a bee-line for my own room. I grabbed myself a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom, stripping off my dirty clothing.

I finally got a good look at my side, and my stomach churned. Dried blood crusted around bite marks that lay on my right side. It looked almost like a dog bite, but too big for any domestic dog. I stood in shocked silence for what seemed an eternity, a hot-cold feeling sweeping over my body.

I shouldn't be alive.

...

I'm not alive.

With that realization, I numbly stepped into the shower, turning it on and letting the water cascade over me, quickly going from ice cold to piping hot. But I didn't care about the temperature right now.

Like a dam bursting after a storm, the tears broke through my numb facade and I collapsed into a heap of limbs on the floor, gasping and sobbing until my chest hurt. I couldn't be dead, but how could I even begin to explain the events that I've dealt with this morning?

After a while, the water started to turn lukewarm, and I slowly hauled myself up off of the floor. With almost mechanical movements, I cleaned the dirt off my body and finished showering. I dried off as quick as I could, and put the bathroom back to how it was before as best as I could.

I walked back to my room, got dressed in some fresh clothing, and packed myself a small bag with three changes of clothes, my wand, my notebook, portable radio, and some money. Not enough to notice the items gone. I pulled on a my new pair of sneakers, I had just bought them for the new schoolyear, and I departed my house.

A bittersweet feeling flooded me as I crossed the foyer for the last time. I looked around, then started off down the street.

* * *

 **There's another chapter. Of course, some more borrowed ideas from Shallow Graves. I really enjoyed the book, and maybe you would too. What do you think? :)**


	3. In which things are discovered

**Hello! I'm back from the dead. ;) Haha. Thank you to the new followers! I'm hoping that my future chapters won't take so long to upload. I've been having some issues with my mental health recently. But hopefully the updates will come sooner now.  
**

 **This chapter is going to focus more on Beatrix's journey in discovering what exactly happened. As always, Harry Potter and all associated things belong to J. K. Rowling.**

* * *

 _May 6th, 1975  
_

* * *

 **(Beatrix)  
** Raindrops scattered in the wind on the window, racing each other to the edge of view. My eyes traced them as they went down their watery track, attention momentarily captured. The rocking of the train soothed my busy mind, lulling me into a sleepy sort of place. I closed my eyes and let my thoughts wander like the raindrops.

Over the past few days, I hadn't learned much about what had happened to me. I learned that I had been killed in late August, presumably by a werewolf. It certainly explained the dog-like bites. I learned that my family had _not_ moved on, and were working with the Ministry to find any leads to who killed me. My heart sped up a little at the thought of my family. I was worried sick about them, but I couldn't really reach out to them, could I? Not in this state.

I also had begun to see the extent of my... _undead-_ ness. After I woke up, if I didn't focus enough on it, my heart would stop. I could hold my breath indefinitely also. So I guess I didn't need to breathe, either. I tested that theory at the bottom of a pond. I had also cut my arm at one point on a pricker-bush, and watched with rapt attention as the wound sealed itself up in a matter of a half hour. All that was left was a fine white line in my skin.

After a bit, I thought it a good idea to record everything I had figured out in one of my small, leather-bound notebook that I had grabbed from home. My father was a bookbinder, and he made this notebook and had placed a spell on it to never run out of pages. I made a timeline of events that happened, and a list of "abnormal" things that I could do, including the whole not-having-to-breathe thing.

On this list is also a very, very, very upsetting thing for me.

One single sentence was on the bottom of the page, underlined and written in shaky handwriting.

"I cannot perform magic."

* * *

 _May 7th, 1975  
_

 _London, England_

* * *

I stepped off the train onto the platform, reveling in the rush of bodies around me. It felt good to be around people again. I brushed past the throng of bodies to a quiet corner and set my backpack down on an wrought iron bench.

My stomach felt like lead; I tried to eat a sandwich while I was on the train. It tasted like ash in my mouth and sat like a 10 pound weight in my gut. I leaned against the wall, and quiet as I could, heaved and expelled the contents of my stomach onto the ground. It looked like it had turned to black tar in my gut.

After a moment to compose myself, I wiped my mouth with my sleeve, grabbed my backpack, hoisted it over my shoulders and split from the scene before anyone noticed. I felt bad but, hey, I've got some traveling to do. I wasn't worried about running into anyone I knew, because Hogwarts was still in session. I took a deep breath in through my nostrils as I exited the train station, taking in all the scents of the city.

I turned right and plodded down the street, towards The Leaky Cauldron. I had one person I knew I could ask, and that was Mr. Ollivander. My father worked with him quite a bit, as his ledger keeper. He was a trustworthy man, and someone who could help me figure out my situation before I approach my family.

* * *

It didn't take me long to make my way through London, through the Cauldron, and to Mr. Ollivander's shop. The bell tinkled joyfully overhead as I entered his shop, the gray mop of hair upon Mr. Ollivander's head bouncing as he glanced up from his book.

"Miss Lebedev?" He inquired, a fairly confused, and slightly horrified, expression appearing on his face. I grinned a little bit sheepishly, then glanced around the store to make sure that we were alone, which we were. I walked up to the edge of the counter and scooted behind it, coming to rest beside Mr. Ollivander.

"Hullo there, Mr. Ollivander. I'm sure you're, uh, a bit confused as to why I'm here." I spoke a little apprehensively, an awkward smile on my face. Mr. Ollivander blinked owlishly from behind his glasses, the expression of confusion still on his features.

Wordlessly, he arose from his stool, beckoned me to follow him, and disappeared behind the shelvings and stacks of wands. I followed him back, heading for his office in the rear of the store. I stepped through the doorway and the door closed soundlessly behind me. Mr. Ollivander took a seat as his desk and motioned for me to do the same. I sunk down into the comfy leather chair in front of his desk.

Mr. Ollivander steepled his fingers together and gave me a long, hard, calculating look.

"Now, Miss Lebedev, would you care to enlighten me as to how you are, ah... back from the dead, so to speak?" His tone was even, but there was a slight quality of confusion in his voice.

I grinned sheepishly at him, then spoke, "I'm not entirely sure, sir. One minute I was in a place I can only describe as purgatory, then the next I was being lifted out of the ground by someone. I don't know how I'm still here but... I know I'm not alive." My smile shifted into a frown by the end of my sentence, and a thoughtful look appeared on Mr. Ollivander's face.

"I see. Do you know who dug you up?" He queried, picking up a quill and pad and scribbling down some notes. I shook my head no,

"I didn't recognize them. I ran home as fast as I could after I got out of the hole. The person who lifted me up, it was an adult male, died when I, uh... I came alive again, sir. I don't know how, but it felt like he was full of darkness. I pulled on it, and then my heart started beating again, and he died." I explained haltingly, the words not quite coming out the way I wanted them to. I was never very good at speaking words anyhow.

Mr. Ollivander's quill scratched busily on the paper, nodding every so often with my words. "Go on, Miss Lebedev. What did he look like? Did he have anything distinguishing about him?" He urged on.

I shifted in my seat, feeling as if I had ants crawling over me. I shuddered as I recalled, "He had dark brown hair, average build, maybe mid-thirties. He was wearing a dirty dark colored suit, and a large coat. I didn't really stick around much to look at him. He looked homeless, honestly." I pursed my lips, looking down at the desk in front of me, racking my brain for any other information.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, following a particularly intense train of thought. I reached to the floor by my side to rummage through my backpack. I pulled out a short, stubby wand. Mr. Ollivander's eyes lit up as I handed it to him, but the second his hands touched the wood, a dark expression fell over his face.

"Ah, yes, I know this wand. He went down the wrong path in life, and this is where it got him, and unfortunately, you." He frowned, placing the wand on the desk. "Now, Beatrix. I am not sure what exactly has happened to you, but I assure you, we will get to the bottom of this. First of all, we must alert the Ministry of what has happened to you and to the man who dug you up."

"I don't think that's a good idea, sir." I piped up, twiddling my thumbs together. "I feel like the Ministry would just treat me like a new creature and pen me away like they did the Werewolves."

Mr. Ollivander looked over his spectacles, straight at my eyes. "...Very well, Beatrix. That is a fair argument. However, we must, at the very least, alert your parents." He reasoned, reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment.I gave no objection to this; if Mr. Ollivander was writing a letter, it would be WAY easier than her original plan to tell her parents. Which was to just walk up to the door, go, 'Hi! I'm not dead!' and hope for the best.

Mr. Ollivander scratched out a hasty note onto the parchment, then called his owl over from its perch. The large Barred owl ruffled its feathers indignantly, startled from its nap, then soundlessly flew from its perch to the edge of the desk. After accepting a small treat from Mr. Ollivander's hand, it allowed him to tie the parchment to its leg. Mr Ollivander told it the address, and got up and opened the window. The owl launched itself out, and he closed the window behind it.

"Now, Miss Lebedev... There seems to be one last thing on your mind, is there not?" Mr. Ollivander asked as he sat back down behind his desk. I shifted in my seat, then nodded. I produced my wand to Mr. Ollivander, a slightly springy Rowanwood wand, 12 1/2 inches long with a dragon heartstring core. It felt like a lead weight in my hands as I handed it over to him. He frowned as he took it, then gasped slightly.

"Beatrix, what have you...?" His voice trailed off. He turned the butt of the wand to me; there was a black scorch mark in the middle. "Your core has been burnt out. It must have taken extraordinary power to burn through it."

I nodded, then spoke, "I'm not sure what happened to it. The scorch mark was on there when I woke up, since it was buried with me. I don't know if it's the wand or not, but I can't perform any magic anymore."

Mr. Ollivander nodded along to my words as he inspected the wand further. "Now, the wand is not useable anymore, but I can salvage the wood and re-core it. It probably burnt out in the massive surge of magic that appeared when you were resurrected. I will examine this and see if I can find any clues from it." He placed the wand down on his desk, then turned to me once more. "In the meantime, while the owl reaches your parents, you may reside with me. Do you have any needs to attend to currently, Beatrix?"

I nodded my head, "If it's no trouble, I would like to take a nap." I smiled sheepishly. Mr. Ollivander proceeded to lead me out of his study and up a narrow staircase full of old, dusty wand boxes. At the top of the stairs was a long corridor with many doors leading off of it. He led me to the third door on the left, opened it, and gestured inside. "The kitchen is the door to your right, the door to your left is the bathroom."

I thanked him and entered the room, shutting the door behind me. I took no notice of the room; I didn't care right now. All I cared about was putting my head on that pillow and taking a nap, which is exactly what I did.

* * *

 **Another chapter out of the way, longest one so far! What did you guys think my portrayal of Ollivander?**


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